


In Which Crowley Pretends He’s Not In Love For 3000 Words

by Ourladyofresurrection



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Confessions, Confused Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is so in love, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt Crowley, M/M, Mild Angst, Pining Crowley, but aziraphale does anyways, but they shouldnt, crowley and aziraphale can read each others minds, crowley drives too damn fast, its okay guys he’s baby, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 06:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19458715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ourladyofresurrection/pseuds/Ourladyofresurrection
Summary: “Demons and angels, amongst their respective kind, and especially of their rivalling kind, shall not, under any circumstances, engage in the willful exchange of conscious minds. Thou shall not alter, influence, or breach the psyche of other divine beings, apart from acts of temptation, which must be seen before the eyes of the Official Angelic Judicial Board.”In which Aziraphale breaks Rule number 343 of the Ancient Golden Rules of Angels and Demons and stumbles upon something shocking about Crowley.





	In Which Crowley Pretends He’s Not In Love For 3000 Words

Angels were blessed with many things; dazzling good looks— which Crowley thinks should be illegal, by the way, an ever-persistent holier-than-thou complex, and of course, wings. _Wings_. That was a nice touch.

If God did anything right, it was Her decision to give angels wings. Especially for angels like Aziraphale, who was all too clumsy on his feet, save for the era he learned to dance the Gavotte. That was a bit of a fluke, as one might say. But, if there was anything angels— well, this angel in particular, wasn’t blessed with, was a good memory.

Aziraphale reasoned it away; angels were busy! Performing miracles and stopping the wiles of demon spawn is harder than it seems, and tends to take up most of their mind’s capacity. Crowley, in fact, takes up ninety-nine-percent of Aziraphale’s thoughts, admittedly, not all of them being negative in the least sense.

Aziraphale cursed the fact that while angels could alter any part of their human bodies, the mind was not subject to this general truth.

No, the human psyche stayed frustratingly, continually held within its limits. If this Ineffable Plan was God playing an impossible gamble, it would be safest to bet on the stark continuity of humankind’s proclivity to be held within the scope of their own view of the Universe, it may be the only constant in a world of variables.

Despite all this, however, whatever Aziraphale may think, most angels do not suffer from memory flukes— brain-farts as the humans like to say. Take one look at Gabriel or Michael, their persistence in chiding Aziraphale for his misdemeanours, small as they are, and realize that angels do, in fact, remember everything.

What was really happening here is that as Aziraphale grew closer to the demon Crawly— or Crowley, as he calls himself now, he’s slowly losing some of his more, well, less monumental perks of being a divine being. It wasn’t his fault that crepes haven’t been that good lately— they hadn’t been the same since the French Revolution, it’s why he risked execution to have them!

It also wasn’t his fault that his memory was a bit spotty lately— the constant breathing of Gabriel down his neck as he periodically tried to convince him he was spending all that time around the demon Crawly (see: Crowley) thwarting his wiles, was surely occupying most of his mind.

So, it really wasn’t his fault that he forgot exactly what Crowley told him to get from the grocery store. Fumbling with the box of warm, unprecedented pastries he bought impulsively, he pulled out his cellular telephone Crowley gifted to him. What was it that he called it? An Eye Phone? What a misleading name, Aziraphale nearly mistook the device for modern binoculars upon hearing that, much to the demon’s amusement and the angel’s perturbed embarrassment.

He pulled it out of his pocket, the brand-new, golden sheen on the back of it winking at him as he drew it closer to his face. The gold was supposed to be angelic, Crowley had told him, sounding proud of himself. He was thoughtful like that.

Aziraphale clicked the top button, which was supposed to turn the receptacle on. Nothing. Furrowing his brows, Aziraphale pressed it again. This time, something did happen, as unpromising as it might have been. On the screen was displayed a blinking icon with a lightning bolt that indicated the device was dead.

“Blasted human invention!” he muttered to himself.

Aziraphale briefly pondered if he could ‘miracle’ the telephone alive, before quickly deciding against it. He reckoned it would be a tad risky to perform divine miracles in the middle of Tesco.

Of course, he could always shield it from human view, but then he would have to alter the veil, and take it up with his superiors. Aziraphale shuddered at the thought, if he never talked to Gabriel again, it would be too soon.

Not to mention God, of course. That would be far worse— he’s been in Her bad books ever since the flaming sword incident at the Dawn of Time. As bad as that day was— what, with divine disapproval and the threat of being discorporated and all, it was also one of, if not the best day of all of Aziraphale’s six thousand years on Earth, or the ones spent in Heaven too.

It was the day he met Crowley. He looked different then— fiery, soot tinged red hair curling down his black robes, braided at the side.

These days, he was rocking a modern-looking grown out crew-cut, reminiscent of the style of the early 1900’s, when soldiers would return home from war, dipping their lovers and kissing them on the shore.

Aziraphale rather liked that look. He found it charming.

How he longed to see a picture of that face, or better yet, see it for himself in person. But of course, due to the power-drained telephone and growing line at Tesco told him that wouldn’t be possible for quite some time.

“Bullocks!” he muttered, hoping Heaven was growing to be lenient on their general, unspoken ‘no cussing’ rule.

So, standing with his pastries growing cold under his arm, and a useless slab of wires and steel in his hand, he decided to breach one of the _Ancient Golden Rules of Angels and Demons-_ Archangel Dominus _._

Rule number 343 _,_ to be exact:

“ _Demons and angels, amongst their respective kind, and especially of their rivalling kind, shall not, under any circumstances, engage in the willful exchange of conscious minds. Thou shall not alter, influence, or breach the psyche of other divine beings, apart from acts of temptation, which must be seen before the eyes of the Official Angelic Judicial Board.”_

Aziraphale questioned the validity of such rules. Ironically, Dominus fell, not two human years after the rules were established— an embarrassingly brief amount of time for a preternatural being who has been around since the dawn of time and will see it out til the end of it.

And so, like anyone who questioned authority and the rules they set forth, Aziraphale decided to rebel and break them. The rules, that is, not the authority.

Though, Gabriel was rather pushing it.

He bit his lip, propelling himself deep inside his mind’s eye, trying to navigate through both Heaven and Hell to access the mind of Crowley, here on Earth. It was one of the cooler powers that both angels and demons possessed.

Anyone who had never known a demon the way Aziraphale had grown to know Crowley might even say it is the only thing the two beings truly have in common. Having known Crowley, knowing Crowley, Aziraphale knew this was not true, but appreciated it all the same for what he was about to do.

If he couldn’t read the list Crowley gave him, or call him, he could do the next best thing— enter his mind.

The list was surely somewhere in there.

He had only done this once before, several millennia ago, shortly after they had first met. It was a brash decision, certainly so for a do-good-er angel like Aziraphale, but he couldn’t help but feel drawn to. Like Eve and the apple. He also felt like he had a snake tempting him, much like in the Garden of Eden all those years ago, but Crowley adamantly denied having anything to do with it.

“ _Why would I want you in my brain, Angel?”_ he had said.

Aziraphale flushed, gulping as he felt a slight pang of guilt bloom in his stomach. That was unheard of in most cases— angels are not born with a system of guilt, it is why they can be so callous and still insist they are beings of paradise, made of the wine and bread of life. Guilt was taught. Instilled into angels under the watchful eyes of their never-pleased superiors.

_Oh, well, I’m sure Crowley wouldn’t mind,_ he thought.

It could be hard to tell, whether instinct was founded upon reason, or the desires of self. If optimism was just a catalyst for self-righteous anger when things turned out not to be quite so.

As foolish as Aziraphale may have been in ultimately making this decision, it was not entirely founded on nothing. After all, they had been friends for over six millennia. Crowley perhaps knew him better than God, Herself did, and that was a feat beyond reason or comprehension alone.

Emboldened by this and slightly placated by his reasoning, he focused.

He thought of Crowley, of his character, put himself in his shoes, visualized him in all his glory. And suddenly, he was in. His own consciousness was still active, Crowley’s seated just beside it, working in symbiosis, yet with stark distinction in a way humans could never truly understand.

He was in.

“Yes!” Aziraphale cheered, realizing he had spoken aloud. He wondered if those near him were weirded out by him, eyes shut and clutching pastries under his arm, muttering to himself.

They were most likely doing their best to ignore him, no doubt putting in a good word with God to ensure they could navigate around the strange person safely. He had witnessed this for himself, when on a train with Crowley and a drug addict had hobbled his direction, yelling something incoherent.

He had shifted closer to the demon, uncomfortable and disturbed, Crowley shifting him subtlety under his arm. He could feel his wings, hidden from human view, brush soft against his collarbone. He had blushed, and later reprimanded Crowley for using large amounts of divine power in such a public place, and for hissing at the man, instilling the fear of God into him the way he did with his plants.

He had just never expected to possibly come across as such a man.

Oh, well.

He navigated through the mind, Crowley’s thoughts coming into his mind as his own. Random Queen lyrics, short video flashes of 80’s dancing— a particular favourite of his demon, random words— probably ones that he would fumble for later, like ‘ducks’ or ‘dolphins.’ He had never seen anything quite so cacophonic.

_How could Crowley find anything in here?_

Suddenly, Aziraphale understood his aversion to reading, how he seemed to forget things often and blurt them out much, much later. Come on...he thought, furrowing his brows in concentration. After a few minutes of searching, he finally stumbled upon the list, bit by bit.

“Yes!” he enthused to himself, opening his eyes and walking to the different aisles, still receiving the slew of thoughts.

He collected milk, pancake batter and wine, putting them all in a little basket. He was just grabbing a carton of eggs when he felt something truly peculiar overtake his system.

He felt indescribable warmth, the lovely smell of crepes and vanilla washing over him. He smelled roses and car leather— the kind Crowley has in his Bentley and his leather jacket. He felt his heart flutter, a tickly warm feeling running down his spine from his neck, like a pleasantly hot shower after a long day at his library.

He smelled old parchment paper and fresh ink, he felt the safety of a thousand hugs. He felt love. Intense, undeniable, wholesome love—stronger than Aziraphale had ever felt in his millennia of living. The love was old, strong. The kind that was rare nowadays.

Love felt different for everyone. Aziraphale would know, after all, he was an angel— he was partial to all things lovely and good and pure, and felt it as if it were his own.

Sometimes, it was. Aziraphale dropped the eggs on the ground, bringing a hand to his lips, ignoring the way the white shells crackled, sending yellow yolk skittering across the linoleum floors and into crevices under the refrigerator.

_Why would Crowley have such powerful love in his mind?_

Aziraphale took his groceries hastily to the cashier, immediately tapping out of his mind-sharing link, feeling as if he’d intruded upon something far too intimate.

He left some scattered bills on the counter—probably too many, judging by the cashier’s look of surprise, and hurried outside. He tucked his nose under his scarf, pulling his jacket closer to him, despite it being rather mild weather, with the Sun visible in the blue sky.

He started toward the bus stop, mind trying to decipher what his findings could possibly mean, when a car honked at him. He swivelled around to see Crowley’s black Bentley parked outside. The window rolled down, revealing Crowley himself, lazily leaning out of it,

“Need a ride, Angel?”

Aziraphale flustered, ears burning, thinking back to the mind-sharing. Some hesitant guilt crept through his stomach. “Oh! Right, of course, dear. I-I’ll be right there!” he stammered, smiling far too wide for it to be genuine.

If Crowley noticed, he didn’t mention it, he just rolled his eyes, amusement laden in his voice as he said, “Tickety-boo?,” miming the angel’s funny saying that one time. He purposely used it wrong just to annoy Aziraphale—a valiant, but ultimately fruitless attempt, as it only ever really filled the angel with endearment.

“Tickety-boo!” he laughed back, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Hi, Angel,” he said smoothly, Aziraphale’s cheeks dimpling and blushing as he grinned back, genuinely this time.

“Begone, foul fiend!” he replied a bit dramatically, facade crumbling as Crowley glanced over at him, quirking an eyebrow.

He conceded, smiling, “Hello, Crowley.”

Crowley glanced over at the groceries, sitting abandoned in the angel’s lap, “No eggs?”

Aziraphale went red, feeling dizzy as his cheeks grew hot as he remembered why he forgot the eggs.

“Alright, well, it’ll be hard to make pancakes without them but—“

“I mind-shared!” Aziraphale blurted out, interrupting the demon. Crowley stopped the car suddenly,

“You did _what?”_

Cars honked from behind them, drivers surely annoyed by Crowley’s sudden pitstop. He scowled, leaning out the window and yelling, “Go around!”

Aziraphale bit his lip as he heard crass language being directed at them as traffic moved around them. “I mind-shared,” he said, a little more tentatively this time, as Crowley put his hands back on the wheel and started driving again.

“What? Angel, you know you can’t mind-share with mortals! It’s against the code—“

“I mind-shared with _you_ ,” he clarified, wanting to screw his eyes shut, but they instead stayed trained on Crowley’s face.

The car screeched to a halt, Aziraphale jolted forward.

“My dear, you really do drive too fast!” he exclaimed, holding a hand to his chest.

“You mind-shared with me?” Crowley repeated.

His expression was hard to gauge, but it didn’t look positive.

“Well, yes. But Crowley you simply must understand—“

“Angel— Aziraphale, that’s against the ancient rules,” he spoke through gritted teeth, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he pulled the car over onto the street outside Aziraphale’s library.

Aziraphale winced at the transition from the affectionate nickname to the way the demon spoke his name as if it physically pained him.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I just forgot my grocery list and—“

“You could have called me!”

“My phone died.”

Crowley hit the steering wheel a couple of times, frustratedly, “Blasted thing!”

“Crowley, I really am sorry, it’s just that we don’t really follow ancient rules, do we?”

“We do when it comes to my own damn mind, Aziraphale! That’s personal!” he yelled, voice a little shrill and manic, crackling off insecurely at the end.

“You’re right, and I’m sorry. I just figured since we’ve known each other for millennia—“

“Well, you figured wrong, Aziraphale!” he hissed, voice lowering as he added, softly, “you get into my damn mind enough without literally entering it.”

Despite his harsh tone, Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice the affection in those words, or how it sent a brief feeling into him like he felt back in the grocery store.

“Crowley, I truly am sorry. I— I brought it up because I found something...interesting.”

Crowley sighed, looking over at him expectantly, “Was it the tape of me dancing in skimpy clothes? Because that was from the 80’s— you _cannot_ hold that against me.”

Aziraphale blushed, holding back a laugh, “No, no! It was something unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”

“That’s rich coming from you, as well. You’ve been here for six millennia and been beside me for all of it. I don’t reckon there’s much you haven’t seen,”

Crowley shrugged, as they stepped inside the library, depositing the grocery bag on the floor.

“No, Crowley. That’s the thing, you see. I have never felt this before. I have never felt love like this before.”

“ _What_?” Crowley demanded, sounding a little sick all of a sudden.

“ _Love_ , Crowley. Very passionate, intense love. Hopeless, true, eternal love. I’ve never seen anything quite like it in all my years. But, Crowley, dear, why was it in your m—“

Before he could finish, Aziraphale was slammed against the wall, not unlike that one time at the Church, his feet just off the ground as Crowley’s arms boxed him in, nose-to-nose with the demon.

“I am a _demon_. I am not _nice_. I do not feel _love_. I certainly do _not_ feel the strongest love of all time.”

Aziraphale nearly went cross-eyed trying to meet his gaze, where his snake-like pupils were intense and slitted, his voice a hiss in his ear.

“Crowley,” he spoke softly, tentatively, “I feel strong heartache...”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley warned.

“True, devastating heartache, beyond the scope of almost anything I’ve ever seen.”

“ _Aziraphale_.”

“Crowley, I don’t understand.”

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD, WILL YOU ANGEL?”

he barked, letting go of Aziraphale, who stumbled to retain his balance, Crowley stalking off a little farther away, hands curled into fists at his sides.

Somehow, Aziraphale felt there was more than one meaning behind the words.

“Crowley.”

“Don’t.”

“Crowley.”

“No.”

“ _Crowley_.”

“Angel, for somebody’s sake would you—“

He was interrupted as Aziraphale slid a gentle hand up the back of his neck, the other cupping his face as he leaned in and kissed Crowley, the words dying on his lips.

Crowley was startled, gripping the back of the angel’s shirt, afraid he might melt, lips parting to welcome the soft, warm, sweet kiss, whining a little under his breath.

He could feel the sudden onslaught of love, Aziraphale’s love melt into him. He heard the sound of classical music, felt the thrill of dancing the Gavotte, the warm smell of crepes, dining at the Ritz. The endearment of hearing someone marvel over the AntiChrist’s tiny little ‘toesie woesies,’ the feeling of reading a new book...

And of course, he felt some of himself in there too. Requited love often felt like the most loved, happiest things in the lives of both people involved. Aziraphale pulled away, sliding his hand that cupped Crowley’s neck down to his chest, stroking it gently through his black silk shirt.

He gazed into the demon’s eyes, slitted pupils dilated and a heady blush tinting his cheeks. He had the look of a man who had been on the receiving end of true, unconditional love for the first time and didn’t know what he did to deserve it, if he deserved it.

“Oh, _Crowley_ ,” he murmured, sliding his hand from his neck to his impossibly soft hair, threading his fingers through it and hugging Crowley close against him.

The demon sighed shakily, leaning headily into his arms, burying his face in his neck affectionately. He practically purred at the soft touch— an odd reaction to hear from a snake, and leaned into it readily. Aziraphale wondered just how long it had been since someone had truly given Crowley a real hug, or embraced him, showed compassion toward him.

He held onto his demon tighter, and there, surrounded by the things he loved most in the world, Aziraphale learned for the first time what it truly felt like to love.

And there, for the first time, he didn’t have to mind-read Crowley to feel the love he held.

For it was everywhere— lingering on his lips, in his touch, in the air around them...it was no longer a thing hidden away.

And the happiness this brought the two beings? Well, it was simply ineffable.

**Author's Note:**

> Based of my tumblr post here:
> 
> https://yourlocalshaniac.tumblr.com/post/186009459681/you-know-that-headcanon-that-crowley-and
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this work, please feel free to check out my other ones, subscribe to my works, and comments and kudos are much appreciated!
> 
> I’m new to this fandom, this is my first work for it, but I’d love to write more fic for it! Feel free to leave prompts or requests in the comments below. :D
> 
> All of my works are cross-posted to:
> 
> Wattpad:@ourladyresurrection
> 
> Tumblr: @yourlocalshaniac (main)  
> @topmecrowley (good omens side blog)


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